Poltergeist
by TilTate
Summary: Subject Delta was dangerous according to Nick Fury. That was why he had Tony Build her an inhibitor. How will she fare as the ticking time bomb of the Avengers? Takes Place from before Avengers through to post Civil war. Bucky/OC
1. Chapter 1

The pain was excruciating. Fire was coursing through her veins as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of the steady beeping of the heart rate monitor, but it was faster than it should be. She knew that at least. Her head lolled from side to side as the pain overtook her.

A sense of delirious agony was the only thing she knew. Her name was gone, her age was gone, her location was gone. The only thing she remembered was that her heart rate monitor was way too fast.

"She's seizing! Someone hold her! I'll administer the reactive. It's time." The voice penetrated through the fog surrounding her, coming through shrill and panicked. 'Why were they panicked?' she wondered to herself.

There was no point in asking because her lips felt like fire and she knew the only thing that person would hear would be a garbled mess. She grimaced internally as the pain spread but she was sure she was screaming in reality. She felt the site where the needle went into her arm and penetrated her skin in deadly detail. A sudden frost spread up her right hand side quenching the fire.

She felt relief for the first time in what felt like a long time. "Stay with us private," She heard a voice murmur in her ear as ice spread throughout her left hand side. Private? Was she in the army? Yes. That sounded right. Private.

She felt the strength to nod and tried to verbally confirm but nothing would come out. She felt the nod was enough when she heard the person sigh with relief and murmur "She's okay."

The fire was slowly dying down, replaced with an icy coolness. She smiled to herself. The worst was over. She had done it. She had survived this godforsaken procedure. A triumphant grin started to stretch across her face when she felt like her skull had been carved in two.

A splitting pain shattered her moment of peace as she convulsed again. Her head was being thrown into the sun, she was sure, or maybe she was getting lobotomised while awake. She wanted to cry or scream but nothing came out as she writhed in agony on the cold metal surface, her previously restrained hands itching towards her head to tear out the source of the pain.

She felt like someone pulling her hair out strand by strand then tearing the skin off after. She was sure she was going to die as images of her life flashed through her memories. Her mother and father; Jason, her brother; Andie, her niece… They would all miss her right? And then just like the pain came, it was over. She slumped in relief, consciousness evading her until there was nothing but a peaceful blackness.

"Doctor? She's not moving." Nurse Chapel responded quietly to the woman's sudden halt. He moved to touch Private Lavin's neck, pressing his sweaty fingers under her jaw to feel for anything, something to indicate life.

He grimaced as He felt a steady beating in the unconscious woman's neck. "Pulse is steady though… Did it work?" Nurse Chapel took a step backwards as Doctor McKinnon took two steps forward, lifting the subject's eyelids open and shining a bright torch into them. The pupils dilated as normal, she noted, but something wasn't right.

"Her eyes. They've changed colour." The doctor spoke softly and withdrew in shock, closing subject delta's eyes. "Call them." She muttered to her companion. He nodded diligently and ran round the corner picking up the phone that until now no-one had dared touch.

He felt a rush as he touched the grey plastic, but steeled himself. He had to be strong. He pressed the single button and placed the cold material to his ear, expecting to hear a dial tone. He jumped in fear as a voice was the first thing he heard.

"State your issue and make it quick Doctor, I'm busy." The harsh voice grated on the other side with a commanding tone. "Sir, this is nurse Chapel." He responded quickly, recognising the gravity of the situation.

"It's subject Delta. We think it's worked." He was met with silence on the other end for at least three seconds when the voice spoke up again. "Coulson, wheels up in 5. Nurse Chapel? We'll be there in a half hour. You better make sure someone's around to explain what the hell's going on."

The dial tone finally sounded and the nurse sighed with relief, running back to Doctor McKinnon. "Doc? He's coming." The woman inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose underneath her tamed brows. Although she was holding a clipboard, Nurse Chapel could see she was trembling. The situation was serious. "Run full diagnostics. I expect to know everything by the time he's here. If you don't have what I need, you're fired. Got it?" The woman snarled.

Nurse Chapel grimaced but nodded his head slowly. A trail of sweat was trailing down the side of his brow, thinking of his sister at home, and Josh. He couldn't afford to be fired, he was getting married to Josh in 3 weeks, and they still hadn't paid the down-payment on the venue. Doctor McKinnon stormed past him leaving him in the lonely room.

He got to work immediately, starting with the DNA analysis. He didn't pay attention to the results, the Doctor could do that. He then went through the genetic formulae and cerebral monitor. Again, the results were ignored.

It had been about 15 minutes into his analysis of subject Delta when her breathing spiked and a sputtering erupted from her throat. He raced over to the panic button and slammed a calloused fist onto it, summoning the doctor.

He then turned his attention to Private Lavin, who he now noted was fully awake and appeared to be choking. He assumed it was the tube down her throat so he braced his hand on her spine and pulled on the tube, which made a slick popping noise as it came out of her throat covered in saliva.

Private Lavin inhaled sharply, being able to breathe for the first time, although sputtering harshly still. Her brunette hair was hanging in limp sweaty strands by the side of her head and her once tanned skin was a sickly pale olive. Her arm flew out to grip the closest thing to her, which just so happened to be Nurse Chapel's arm, her nails digging into the ebony skin.

"Private Lavin, my name is Nurse Chapel, do you remember me? I'm here to help you and make sure you're okay. Can you tell me where you are?" Nurse Chapel went through the motions with the woman, his hand still bracing her spine and supporting her upright.

Her eyes flickered towards him and he nearly withdrew in shock. Her once chocolate, nearly black eyes were now a forest green. "Private Lavin?" He continued looking at the woman and supporting her. Her rapid breathing had slowed but was still very heavy, and the two were locked in this staring contest until Doctor McKinnon came charging into the room.

Both people's eyes flashed towards the doctor. "What's wro-" The doctor froze. "Private Lavin." She simply greeted the woman. As she moved towards the bed, a pair of steely green eyes followed her, as though analysing her. Whilst Doctor McKinnon would never admit it was unnerving, she certainly felt nervous.

"Has she spoken yet?" She asked Nurse Chapel.

"No, _She_ hasn't. And I'm right here."

The medical professionals froze. That voice certainly hadn't come from either one of them. It was croaky and underused, probably very strained from the tube pressing against her vocal cords. It was Private Lavin who had spoken.

"Did it work?" She asked the Doctor, who simply stared back at her. She was unable to answer that question. She was saved from having to reply to the woman with the entrance of another two men into the room, whom caused her a great deal of fear.

"Director." She stiffened as he glanced at her and gestured for her to move aside. Nurse Chapel however, stayed in place supporting the fragile woman, something which Private Lavin was grateful for.

"Cristina Lavin. My name is Director Nick Fury. How are you feeling?"

Everyone was shocked in the least when Cristina responded with a scoff. "I know who you are sir, with all due respect I don't think there's a single person within SHIELD who doesn't. I'm feeling okay. Did it work? Did the procedure work?"

Director Fury analysed the girl, agent Coulson standing behind him. She physically hadn't changed apart from her eye colour, did this mean failure? Rogers had undergone a severe physical transformation but the girl in front of him… Cristina… She seemed the same.

"We don't know, but we will soon."


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, enjoy chapter 2! 3**

* * *

Cristina Lavin was pissed off. They'd had her locked in that room for four goddamn hours now and nothing had happened. The wires attached to her temples tingled every now and then but other than that she was just pissed. The procedure, they said, hadn't gone to plan, so they were now 'monitoring' her to see what had actually changed, but so far, Cris just felt like herself.

They had bathed her, clothed her in a SHIELD uniform and left her in the empty padded white room with one mirror. She wasn't stupid, she knew there were at least a dozen shield scientists on the other side analysing her like a guinea pig.

On her wrists were heavy stainless steel handcuffs linked with a long chain and attached to the wall by bolts in the corner. Fury had said this was just a 'precaution' in case something went wrong. Cris however wasn't fooled.

She was originally just a private in the US navy, who had been selected for this experiment out of thousands of people. She didn't know why back then and she still had no clue now; she just did as she was told and followed orders.

Her CO had said she had been showing a promising attitude after her first tour; a 'solid head on solid shoulders' he'd put it, so he decided to put her forwards for the test. They'd escorted her into a little grey room resembling an interrogation chamber and forced her to sign documents she wasn't allowed to read. The only thing her eye had caught was the SHIELD logo on the corner of each page. The rest was blacked out.

It was explained to her that she would be injected with a serum designed to enhance her physical capabilities. She would become stronger, faster, her reflexes would improve, a higher stamina and pain tolerance. They had told her they were recreating the formula that SHIELD had used to create Captain America. Instead? She was just another dead end.

At only 20, Cris was one of the youngest in her troop, the 182nd, so it had baffled her when she had been chosen over her squad members like Big Al or Stevie. They were more physically imposing, older and had more experience than her due to being over 15 years older than her. She'd only been in the army for two years whereas her squad at least 10. It was confusing to say the least.

She thought back on her time on tour with her squadron and smiled. They were her family, and whilst they were in combat at minimum once a week, they protected each other as best they could. They called her 'Bear cub' because she was the youngest in their squad, so they all had a tendency to baby her- not that she needed it of course. She was feisty as hell in the field and they all knew it.

Cris flopped back on the cushioned floor, smirking amusedly when it bounced slightly beneath her. She was going to go stir crazy if she had to stay a moment more in this place. She had been in there now for 24 hours, food being pushed in the slot under the door every few hours. She huffed and seated herself upright once more. "Fury? I don't think anything's happening sir." She spoke aloud staring at the mirror, knowing he was behind there.

She hadn't realised she was holding her breath until she huffed in irritation at the lack of response. "Listen man, I'm really tired, I've not slept, can't I just go home and set up cameras that you can monitor me from? Like seriously I need a shower too, I'm starting to smell worse than that time I fell in a pile of horse shit in Iraq. Please Sir?"

Cris didn't look at the mirror this time but at the ceiling in desperation. She was going to go crazy and die in here if she couldn't leave. The sound of a decompression echoed throughout the room as a panel of the cushioned wall swung out to reveal agent Coulson, dressed as normal in his suit and tie.

"The director has told me to inform you he will adhere to your request so long as you allow SHIELD to monitor you 24/7. Private Lavin, if you'd follow me I'll take you to the vehicle that will take you home. I shall escort you to your place of residence to ensure all is well, then I'll take my leave." Cristina raised her hands to the sky as though praising an invisible deity, then thrust her cuffed wrists out towards agent Coulson.

" _Madre M_ _í_ _a, finalmente!"_ she exclaimed. "Get me outta these chains Coulson you're my new favourite person." Cristina grinned widely as Coulson unlocked her handcuffs. She rubbed her slightly raw wrists wincing as she did, but followed in a quick march behind the senior agent.

"So why didn't it work?" She questioned Coulson, who simply shrugged in reply. They twisted and turned down several corridors, probably to confuse her so she couldn't find her way back in, until they reached what appeared to be a large underground parking garage. It was murky and very dimly lit, to the point where Cris had to squint to see any form of vehicle.

She smiled when Coulson pressed a button on his keys and the headlights to a car in the corner flashed twice, the bright lights seeming out of place in the dingy area. The ride home was a long one, spent curled up on the back seat of the car, head pressed against the window staring out into the countryside.

It was a change from where she had grown up as a little girl, and a very large change from Iraq, but it was one she welcomed with open arms.

Her family had emigrated to the US when she was 7 years old; they had moved for her mother's work. Adoa Sanchez-Lavin was a top biological chemist and had been recruited by OSCORP to work in their developmental science division. It was a demanding job that had transported them from Brazil to New York in the blink of an eye, but it was one that she needed.

Her father, Javier Barroz-Lavin was in the military, and the wages, well… They weren't the best. Her mother was the family's main source of income, and her brother Jason was already living away from home, married with a kid.

It was thoughts of her niece Andie that made her smile in the back of the sleek black car. She was twelve and a little spitfire, she had herself to blame for that though; Cris had influenced Andie from a young age.

"Coulson?" She piped up from the back. He turned to face her halfway, in response. "Do you have my iPhone? I wanna listen to some music." He smiled simply and dug around in a bag for a long time before withdrawing the rectangular object followed by wires.

"I figured you'd want your headphones too. Let me know if you'd like anything else Private." He smiled, and passed them back to her. The driver of the car had remained silent and stoic, following protocol no doubt.

She liked agent Coulson, she had decided. Whilst the man was older than her, and no doubt a lot more dangerous than her appeared, he was polite with her and treated her with respect, something she couldn't say a lot of people did.

Cris jammed the buds into her ears and blasted the volume on full. The folksy guitar filled her ears as she stared out of the window. She assumed they'd all be in the car for a long time. She settled herself into a more comfortable position, the stiff leather of the seat squeaking as she moved, and let her eyes slowly droop shut.

When the car drew to a sharp stop, Cristina's eyes fluttered open and she was met with the concrete jungle she had become accustomed to over the years. The cool breeze she was met with when agent Coulson opened the door to let her out was not as strong as she was expecting considering it was mid-September in New York City.

The pair entered the atrium of her apartment building, and she was not surprised to see that her mailbox was empty. Cris only had 3 neighbours in the whole building: Mr Johnson, the old army vet who lived across the hall from her; Mrs Allcop the old lady on the third floor who always fed the birds every morning at 9am; and finally the creeper on floor one who's name she didn't know who always scratched his balls on the balcony. She hadn't missed the creeper.

She turned to agent Coulson. "You gonna have to walk up with me?" She queried, hauling the standard issue SHIELD rucksack onto her shoulder with her belongings. She pushed open the heavy door that lead to the stairwell. Coulson nodded once, following behind her as she started up the stairs to her apartment. "Hope you're in shape. You got 7 flights of stairs to go yet Coulson!" She shouted behind her as she jogged up the stairs.

Cristina twisted to retrieve the keys from her bag and was surprised to see agent Coulson hot on her heels on the sixth floor. She knew the man was probably a lot fitter then he appeared.

She routinely jammed the keys into the lock, jiggled them around a little, then forced the door open. 'Still as tough as ever' she noted silently to herself. "I don't earn that much, so don't expect lavish digs or anything."

Coulson remained silent as the pair went into her apartment together. It was exactly the same as she had remembered it. The window on the left hand side of the lounge opened out to the fire escape, and the kitchenette on the right hand side of the room was bare bones.

Cris only had one bedroom and bathroom, but being single that was all she'd ever needed. She wasn't going to pay for space she A) didn't need and B) couldn't afford.

"Told ya." She smirked as she saw Coulson standing in the living room looking dismayed. "Need anythin' else or is that it now?" She asked, possibly somewhat rudely but hell, she was tired and just wanted to resume that nice nap she'd had in the car.

He walked forwards two steps and flicked a sleek white card out to her with a number on it, and nothing else. "If you need anything, call this number. If anything goes wrong, call this number. In an emergency, call this number first. Got it?" She felt like she was being lectured by her dad.

Cristina saluted and clicked her heels together in a typical salute, winking at agent Coulson as she did. He simply shook his head and walked off to the cackling of the Latina woman.

Cris didn't want anything other than her bed in that moment so, kicking off her boots, she sluggishly made her way to her double bed and flopped face first ungracefully. Within moments the brown haired woman was fast asleep curled amongst the sheets.

When she awoke, the sun was just starting to rise, and considering she'd arrived home at around 6pm, it was safe to assume she'd slept a good 12 hours. She smiled and twisted her hips in the bed, smirking as a sickening _crack!_ Echoed throughout the room. Cracking her back was her own little sick pleasure.

She had fallen asleep in her shield jumpsuit, and decided to quit the horrible and quite frankly uncomfortable fabric for one of her old oversized t-shirts. Her stomach rumbles so once changed, she padded her way into the kitchen and yanked open the fridge, something she had been dreading.

As expected, the only thing in the fridge was an out of date yoghurt and a pot of jam. Cris sighed and slammed the fridge door shut, praying for a TV dinner in the freezer, but no. That too was barren. She sighed and ran a hand through her wavy locks, takeout it was.

Only, she couldn't find the phone. " _Puta madre."_ she sighed. Usually, the first place it would be was behind the sofa cushions, but even throwing those onto the floor left no results. Cris sighed, placing her head into her hands. All she wanted was some goddamn food, was that too much to ask? Actually no. She didn't want the food, she wanted the phone to order takeout.

Cris wandered into the kitchen when she felt something smack against her thigh and clatter to the floor. She wheeled round in shock immediately tensing into defensive position and turning towards the source of the noise. On the floor, next to her feet, was her grey, cheap house phone.

Cris ran into her room and retrieved the Glock .45 from her bedside drawer, turning off the safety and cocking it. Immediately her senses were on fire. Someone was in her home. "Hello?" She called out tentatively.

No answer.

Silently, she stalked from round the corner and quickly cleared her bathroom, then moved into the only other room in the house: the lounge/kitchenette. Crouched and coiled like a cobra in the corner, her eyes scanned the room and found nothing out of place.

She army rolled towards her front door and tested whether it was still locked. It was. Senses dropping slightly, she moved from the front door to behind the sofa stealthily. Was there someone behind the curtains?

If she moved too close they could ambush her at any moment, so she couldn't do that. Just as she thought that, the curtains flowed to the sides as though pulled by an invisible hand. They revealed nothing behind them.

What. The. Hell. So either Cris was being stalked by an invisible man, or a ghost. _Unless…._ Wait. Was she doing that? No. That's impossible.

Her eyes flicked to the grey house phone again, now beside her on the floor. Her wide green eyes were panicked and held nothing but fear. Could it…? As she stared at the phone, it twitched.

Cris jumped back in horror. She reached her hand out and focused her attention on the phone. To her astonishment and terror, as she moved her hand higher, the phone followed her actions and appeared to levitate into the air.

She shrieked and kicked at the floor away from the object, pushing herself backwards.

Scrambling madly around the apartment, she finally found her mobile. On the counter where she had left it was the business card that agent Coulson had given her. She rapidly dialled the number with trembling hands and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard "Agent Coulson speaking, Private Lavin what's your issue?"

"Coulson? Something's happened. I need you."


	3. Chapter 3

It had been almost a year since that day in her crappy little New York apartment, but good God how she missed it. Cristina had developed her powers to her full extent not long after the first sign and it took a while to get used to, to say the least. There was the telekinesis, the telepathy, the ability to heal herself (and others, which had proved very useful) and finally what Fury had called 'atomic reshuffling' where she could physically dismantle atomic structures into nothing.

It had also taken her months of laboratory experiments, hundreds of hours of physical training, countless therapy sessions and several teary breakdowns until she was finally used to it.

That was, of course, until the disaster. It had been a regular day for Cris; she had been eating in the dining hall with a few other agents (she had shortly been promoted to an agent after the first experiment) and it had been packed. Whilst she was told not to show off her powers per-se, there wasn't a single person in the dining hall who _wasn't_ aware she had them.

All she had wanted was a knife, and that was what she thought. Little had she known, every single knife within the entire vicinity had picked up on this. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, sharp knives seemed to be flying in the direction of her table. Most of the agents around her had managed to duck out of the way.

Michael, who had been sitting next to her, was not fortunate enough. The knife had pierced his right eye socket with such a force that it had pinned him to the wall behind her. Cristina hadn't escaped unharmed either with a knife in her right shoulder, left breast, and four in her lower abdomen. She however, hadn't died.

The look of horror on her face was matched only by the looks of fear that everyone around her was giving her.

Cris could heal herself, but there's no way you can heal a dead man.

Michael had died as soon as the butter knife had pierced his frontal lobe, they told her. They told her he felt no pain, and probably wasn't aware of what was happening. It didn't reassure her.

After that, it was like she had completely lost control of everything. If ever she had a nightmare, there were times when the whole base would shake and random pieces of furniture would be found floating during the night.

At times, objects would disappear into nothing, her atomic reshuffling causing chaos in the base. People had taken to calling her 'The Poltergeist' after that. She wasn't sure if it was just because of that or if it was because she was just a shell of who she used to be.

It was at that point that Fury had become desperate.

He had enlisted the help of Tony Stark to design something that he called 'The inhibitor'. It would restrain parts of Cristina's brain, causing certain aspects of her powers to be locked away inside her head. The object sat just under the surface of her skin under her jaw on her neck, and was attached to her skull using small wires that threaded their way under her skin and into certain parts of her brain, stopping the signals causing her powers to fluctuate.

The only thing Cris was able to do now was heal people and use her telekinesis but to a limited point. She felt like a monster.

And Cris in herself? Well she'd changed. It was after Michael that she had become bitter, harsher on not just herself but everyone around her. People compared her to the Widow, who she had actually yet to meet. Her patience was thinner than a dead man's skin.

She spent most of her time isolated in physical training perfecting her fighting skills. She hadn't tried to use her powers since that day. She didn't want to. Whilst Tony and everyone around her assured her that the inhibitor would work, she didn't want to see another Michael.

She lived in fear of herself every day. She called herself ' _El Malvado'_ meaning 'Wicked one'. She didn't think there was a way she would ever forgive herself.

Then along came Natasha and Clint. Strike Team Delta. Natasha herself had more red in her ledger than she cared to admit, but she snapped Cristina straight out of her stupor by confessing only a small part of her history to her. She still wasn't the same however. She would never be the same again.

It took a while for Cris to forgive herself but eventually she did. The two had taken the girl under their wings- almost literally in Hawkeye's case- as their protégé. Clint and Natasha became the closest thing to her family that she could reach.

Her own family however, believed she had died. She had agreed with Fury that it was the best way to go about things, she didn't want to hurt them, much less scare them to death with her powers. It was for the best that she stayed away, but that didn't mean that she didn't miss them every day.

She trained with Natasha and Clint most days, learning from the master assassins as she went. Tasha taught her to fight dirty whereas Clint, knowing her hatred of her powers, helped her with ranged fighting.

They soon learned that a bow and arrow were not her speciality after a mishap with one of Clint's exploding arrows that left the pair without eyebrows for several weeks much to Natasha's glee. The redhead had laughed for a good hour about that, to their faces.

Tasha had educated her in acrobatics, to a point where she had slowly become better than the master assassin, and was able to contort herself into all sorts of impossible positions. Needless to say that had earned her all sorts of jokes from Clint about her in bed.

She had slugged him for that. He soon learned he shouldn't mess with her when in a bad mood.

They cycled through all types of weapons until they came across one that actually seemed to work with Cris: Throwing Knives, ironically. At first Cris had been resistant to trying them, thinking of what had happened to Michael, but after a slap in the face from Natasha she finally tried them.

It wasn't like she was a natural, it was just the one she sucked at the least out of everything else. Secretly, Cris still thought that it was because they'd run out of other choices.

It had taken a few years, and a lot of isolation from the rest of SHIELD but Cris had trained until finally she was a master, like Clint was with a bow, and eventually become an official member of Strike Team Delta going on missions with Nat and Clint. The trio were lethal when together and deadly alone.

She had been in SHIELD for 4 years when it had happened. She had received a call from Coulson at about two in the morning, awaking her in her dormitory. "Lavin" She answered abruptly, sleep evident in her croaky voice.

"We've found him."

Cristina inhaled sharply. " _Seguro?"_

"Yes Lavin, I'm sure, it's him. I'm staring at him right now." Coulson bit down the phone exasperated at her use of her mother-tongue. She could hear the childish glee in his voice and smirked.

" _Voy."_ She chuckled and hung up the phone, pulling on her standard uniform. It was a lot less fancy than the one Tasha wore that had all the bells and whistles attached. Hers was made of a simple black breathable leather and reinforced with Kevlar plates that covered her arms, torso and legs. It was plain black and bared no skin other than her neck and hands. She wasn't going to dress fancy for an unconscious guy.

She slogged her long hair up into a loose ponytail, grabbed her rucksack, tucked her gun and knives into her waistband and off she went.

When she arrived at the compound, it was on full lockdown. She had to pull her level 8 clearance on the security guy and fix him with her best assassin glare just to get him to open the first door.

She finally reached Coulson only to see that Clint and Tasha were already there.

"Late again Lavin." Clint chuckled.

"It was one time!" She gritted out, folding her arms. "See this is why I like Tasha better." Clint just chuckled harder at the younger woman. With Cris aged only 24, Clint was 12 years her senior, making the dynamic between them like an older brother teasing a younger sister.

Tasha however at 29 was like their mediator, leaving Cris grateful when she stepped between them.

"As much as I love that sentiment Cris, this isn't the time. Coulson, when you said you found him, I thought you meant alive. The guy is frozen solid, why were we called out here?" Tasha spoke up from her place in between the two bickering agents.

"I wanted to discuss something with you both. That and I was excited." Coulson was sheepish on the last part, causing all the assassins to glare at him. Ever been glared at by 3 master assassins just woken up at 3 in the morning? As Phil Coulson learned: Not Pleasant.

"What did you wanna discuss Phil?" asked Clint to Cris' far right. Coulson smiled grimly.

"Babysitting duty." The three assassins cocked their heads like confused puppies. "Allow me to elaborate. One of you is going to have to help Captain Rogers here integrate into society and… uh… function properly if he's to be a part of Fury's Avengers initiative. Any Takers?"

Tasha and Clint, having learned by now, both took a step back, however the slightly more naïve Cristina was left standing alone at the front, in perfect sight for Coulson to choose. When Coulson smiled at her, she turned to the other two assassins, confusion on her features, only to scowl when she noted the two were far behind her, both smirking.

She was about to yell a string of expletives at the pair of assholes stood behind her when Coulson spoke up. "Excellent. Agent Lavin you will need to help Rogers after medical has given him the all clear. We will contract you when you're needed." When the senior agent spoke she turned to face him with a stern expression on his face and a brown manila folder was thrust into her hands. She knew she would have no choice in the matter.

She nodded reluctantly and skulked off when Coulson murmured "Dismissed". She could hear the snickers of the utter children behind her and shouted a quick insult in Spanish, earning more laughs and "Love you too Lavin!" from Clint.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been at least another month before the Captain had thawed and woken up. In that month Cris had been debriefed and given his file. The personal connection that she had with the Captain was one that she only fully realised after reading the experiments he had been put through.

Her own serum was one that had impacted her greatly, so she felt like she understood him. She guessed she would have been chosen to babysit the Cap whether she wanted to or not based on this fact alone, she wasn't stupid.

If anything, she was glad she'd get the chance to meet him. Reading his file, it definitely seemed like he was one of the good guys. It always seemed like he did the right thing; he was a good soldier with a conscience and that was hard to find.

In her time in the marines, she had learned there were three types of soldier: Ones with conscience, ones who blindly followed orders believing they were doing good and then there were those who enjoyed the violence. Cris hoped that she had been the first type.

Cris had been taken off missions with STRIKE team Delta in that month, because it was thought that the captain could wake up at any moment. She had been told by Fury that she was to spend at least 7 hours a day with Rogers which would be a challenge for her. Cris didn't think she'd spent 7 consecutive hours with anyone since her time in the marines.

It had been early during a Tuesday afternoon when she'd gotten the call. She had hauled herself off her couch and simply discarded the tub of ben and jerry's on the coffee table. After a quick shower and hauling on her jeans and t-shirt, she had hightailed it down to SHIELD HQ in the centre of New York as per Fury's orders.

She had waited in a plain room, filled only with a water dispenser, two sofas, coffee table and a flower vase which she had snorted disdainfully at. She guessed it was someone's idea of trying to make the room more comfortable.

When the door was knocked on and cracked open, Cris wasn't surprised by what walked through it. There, in the flesh, was Captain America. His hair was out of place, and stretched across his muscled torso and legs was a plain white t-shirt and standard issue shield joggers.

She couldn't deny that he was handsome either, but he looked like he was too perfect, a goody two shoes. His jawline was sharp and nose straight. He could have been the poster boy for the Aryan race.

She had almost felt a pang of sympathy for the super soldier when she had seen the lost look in his eyes. His bright blue eyes were glazed over with what appeared to be shock. She had seen that look in her own eyes one too many times.

When she had locked eyes with him, what had surprised him was the age in his eyes. She shouldn't really be surprised; he was like 95. She had smiled softly at him, dressed in civilian clothing as per Fury's orders.

"Hi Mr Rogers, I'm Cristina." She had stood up and extended her hand, that the Captain had eyed warily. After a short pause, he had shaken it with a firm grip. "Captain Steven Rogers Ma'am. A pleasure."

Cris had sighed internally at the uniform way in which he had introduced himself. He carried himself like a military man, and fortunately she knew how to handle military men.

"At ease Steven. Or would you rather I call you Steve? Cause I sure as hell ain't gonna let you call me Ma'am. Makes me feel old. Call me Cris." She had smiled warmly at Steve, beckoning him into the room and plonking herself unceremoniously back on the sofa.

Steve had cautiously sat down on

"Um, are you sure Ma'am, I just want to be polite and-" Cris had cut him off by holding up a hand and smirking.

"Positive. Call me Cris, Steve." She smiled warmly once again, her lips crinkling at the edges. She didn't know it, but he'd warmed to her in that moment. She was direct and firm, but friendly at the same time. He appreciated that.

"I warn you, I might slip a few times _Cris_. And sure, call me Steve, all my frien-" He stopped abruptly at the realisation of what he was about to say. Cris' heart nearly burst at the sight of the lost faraway look in his eyes. She wanted nothing more to wrap the man up in a hug.

"Hey, Steve?" She spoke after a while, breaking the man out of his daze.

"Wha-? Oh yeah… call me Steve." He had smiled falsely but she could see the pain that lay behind it.

From then on, she had shown Steve the ropes of the 21st century, showed him round New York, given him a tour of Brooklyn and Boston and the city. She had hoped that would have helped him. Instead, it had made him recede into himself and shy away.

He had accepted that she wasn't to be made into a delicate little flower like the civilian women in the 1940's after she had opened up about her past in the military and told him what she did for a living. Needless to say he was shocked but he soon grew to accept it.

She knew he was struggling to adapt to 2013. He spent most of his time in that dingy gym that Fury had kitted out for him like a typical 1940's gym. A few times they had trained together, his prowess running her ragged. She had thought she could keep up with him for the first few weeks but as his confidence grew, and his rapport with herself, so did his use of his super strength.

There had been a time when the pair were sparring that he had accidentally kicked her in the ribs too hard and cracked one, which caused him to break down into tears.

She knew it wasn't about hurting her, it was about everything in general. She was unsure as to how she should handle the super soldier so instead of leaving him, she simply sat with him in the ring and held him close to her, cradling his head.

It was an awkward position because he was so tall but he still managed to cling to her like a small lost child.

The next day he had tried to apologise but she had not let him. Whilst the pain was sharp and it did hurt, she had endured worse and he certainly should not have apologised for crying.

The pair had grown to something akin to best friends. She wasn't sure her relationship with Steve was one that could be considered as tight as hers with Natasha or Clint but she was classing herself as close to him.

As for assessing him, she knew that he was physically ready to be in the field, she could tell as much from her sparring. Psychologically however she knew he wasn't ready by a long shot. If he couldn't integrate with the present day, there was no way he would be able to go on missions.

Sure, he was adapting to stuff like TV, washing machines and appliances, but he just wasn't doing well with the outdoors.

He had made one odd request for a motorbike to SHIELD, which they had obliged to. They considered Rogers to be mostly stress free, and considering that he was her responsibility they were happy with her as well.

She missed Tasha and Clint. She had heard they were in The Congo at the moment on a level 9 clearance mission, so she wasn't able to know about it. Steve in a sense had become her only friend; she could understand his isolation because she was enduring one too.

She had been through the isolation before, like when she had come off tour and gotten home for a few weeks. It was a lonely life. She struggled to make friends and be with people because she simply couldn't maintain the relationships for long enough before leaving again. Plus, dealing with nightmares made her too exhausted to go out.

Her and Steve were a lot more alike than they both realised, and not just in terms of the serum.

It had been around 4 or 5 months after Steve had been fully thawed that she got the call from Director Fury, telling her to bring him in. She had respectfully declined, claiming that he wasn't ready, which was true. He wasn't ready right now. Fury had to respect that.

Unfortunately, Fury didn't like taking no for an answer and bypassed Cristina all together, going directly to Steve himself. She had only found out when Steve had rushed over to her apartment in a panic explaining that he was leaving at 09:00 in two day's time.

She had panicked herself at that point, wondering why she hadn't been called by Fury herself, only to be called a liability down the phone due to her powers. Cris had gritted her teeth and almost thrown her phone against a wall when Fury had said that. He knew what that had meant to her.

Steve was very scared of her at that point in time.

It had taken a phone call heavy with blackmail to Fury from Steve (saying that he wouldn't go unless Cris could go with him) before Cris was called informing her of her mission too.

The pair would travel together by helicopter to an undisclosed location and be briefed on arrival as to their full mission, meanwhile non-detailed briefs would be sent to their homes on something known as 'The Avengers Initiative'.

Steve had stayed in Cris' apartment last night, with the pair falling asleep to old black and white movies. Cris had fallen asleep on the armchair with the briefs on her lap and her mouth wide open, snoring.

Meanwhile Steve had fallen asleep tucked neatly on her sofa, very much military style having become accustomed to the tiny bunks over the years.

Cris woke earlier than Steve, drenched in sweat and panting heavily. A nightmare had taken a hold on her subconscious of her time on tour. Needless to say Steve had awoken not much later from a nightmare of his own.

He was in a similar state to herself.

The pair simply shared a knowing look before Cris got up to make coffee. Neither of the pair would go back to sleep that night.


End file.
